


Hop as the Toad

by lameafpun



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, horny for harriet 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27398347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameafpun/pseuds/lameafpun
Summary: The first time you met Miss Davenport ended with you having a vision of the animals in the painted canvas above the hotel bed prowling down the canopy. Having dismissed that as mostly a dream it was a surprise to find yourself near Macfarlane's ranch and following half remembered directions to where the dream woman said she'd be.
Relationships: Harriet Davenport/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

Strawberry was an ambitious little town. While it wasn’t nearly as bustling as Valentine or even Annesburg, the mountain lent to a particular kind of natural wild charm that drew a healthy amount of visitors. Still not nearly as many as the mayor would like. His speeches, forgettable and drawn out besides, were the most ostentatious thing in town next to the hotel foyer. You’d long since learned to tune them out when you rode into Strawberry on a chilly autumn day. Leaves crunched under your horse’s hooves. Your breath left you in curls of misty steam. Winter hadn’t quite yet gotten its foot in the door — you had ridden in just to catch the cold, twilight mountain air that had sunk down to blanket the town — but you had bundled yourself up in a few coats just the same.

You nudged your horse up the main (only) road toward the hotel. Hands already shaking with cold and eyes tearing up with fatigue, it took you a few tries to hitch the whinnying animal. Evidently, she was glad to stop for the night.

Riding straight from Valentine with no rest was finally taking its toll. Every time you closed your eyes you lost a few seconds, slipping into a half conscious state that was getting harder and harder to pull yourself out of. The tip of your boot caught on the last step and you tripped through the door, just catching yourself on the doorknob, your wrist turning instinctually.

Before the door had opened more than a crack you finally caught the tail end of a shout. Another realization popped at that moment. Normally there were at least a few people milling about the hotel, in casual conversation or taking the chance to read the paper with a partner, and yet today you were the only one on this side of the road. A glance to your right revealed the sheriff, leaning against the bounty board and cleaning his gun though his eyes never left the hotel door. He nodded at you between those precious few seconds where your wrist turned and the door had just been opened. Your foot had already left the floor. You entered the building.

“ - got to stop!” A shrill voice pierced through the haze first, spearing through the webs of your lethargy and piquing the last vestiges of your curiosity. You tilted your head up as best you could and watch as a woman, who looks like a modern kind of wild fae-person, stomps around the stairs with a tightly wound anger.

“Ma’am, I,” the harried concierge rounded his desk, wringing his hands at the woman yelling up the landing before he spotted you. However he tried to disguise the distress on his face, it was evident on his brow as he turned to you, “ - oh, I’ll be right with you.”

“I know you’re up there!”

“Oh, marvelous.” You watch impassively as a heavy set man with an impeccably styled mustache descends the stairs, a big cat on his shoulder. That he isn’t heaving for breath is a testament of his strength. “There she is! Just what I need, the crazy wood nymph. Can’t a man take a bath in peace?”

The woman’s anger reaches a new boiling point at the appearance of the big cat. Her words leave her, lashing the air like a whip. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s a panther.” He grunts and rounds the corner of the bannister to sling the remarkably intact carcass onto the concierge’s desk, who gags. If you had feeling in your limbs you would have pat his back in sympathy.   
“You - savage!” Her voice nearly breaks, but whether it’s from fury or sorrow you don’t know. Could be both, really.

Their voices buzz in the back of your mind as your eyes slide closed again. It’s only the sensation of near falling that shakes you - when you open your eyes again you’re standing almost shoulder to shoulder with the poor concierge. You manage a single step away to preserve his personal bubble before the magnificent mustachioed man invades yours, a card in hand.

“Gus Macmillan, master craftsmen of fine clothing and accessories - here’s my card.” He offers the paper and you take it mechanically. There’s a golden sheen that, on anyone else’s card, would look decidedly gaudy yet it seems to fit him. The blocky font and animal paw prints on the corner is a nice touch as well. “I pay top dollar for animal fur and parts - “

“Don’t listen to him!”

Their descent into arguing makes like the mayor’s speeches - in that it melds into the low humming that took up residence in the backs of your ears after the second day on the trail and second day of not sleeping. Your yawn is slow, a gradual, inelegant, stretch of the jaws that make tears roll down your cheeks. Vertigo spins the world on its head, tilts it so you have to reach out for stability. You’re too tired to properly despair when nothing but air brushes your fingertips. If nothing else, falling will wake you up properly enough to toss some coins to the concierge and drag yourself up to the rooms.

Instead, a delicate hand steadies you.

When you’re expecting the bare minimum, anything above that is a pleasant surprise.

Warmth seeps through even the thick fabric of your coat. Your eyes flutter open to brown eyes and a fae-like face, brow creased with concern. Her gaze sweeps over you, taking in the frizz in your hair, the bags below your eyes, and the way you pitch to the side when her grip loosens.

“Yes, I suppose being on the road will do that to you.” Her remark doesn’t seemed entirely aimed at you. Actually, there’s no one else in the room - which smells suddenly like a cross between a stable and some natural animal…funk - besides you and the “nymph woman.”

“M apologies, ma’am.” It’s more a slur than words.

“Oh no, of course not.” She waves you off almost absentmindedly, though she maintains her grip on your arm even as she taps her chin thoughtfully. “Harriet Davenport. I would shake your hand if you weren’t so indisposed at the moment. I’ve been in the field for three years now, studying the hidden connections between animals of all species and - well. We can talk about this when you aren’t so . . . preoccupied. And, seeing as there’s no host to show you to your room, I’m sure Cecil won’t mind giving you a free night to make up for the inconvenience! Now - “

Even if you weren’t dead tired keeping up with the deluge of words that come gushing out of her mouth, like she’d been saving them up for this occasion especially, would have been an ordeal. They spin around your mind, turning themselves over and over till they’re nothing but a mess of consonants and vowels, as your get practically carried up the stairs. Ultimately, they’re lost as she turns to you. The look in her eyes isn’t dissimilar to one you’d give a wounded animal. Though you recognized that you couldn’t help but feel oddly comforted by the care and safety she seemed to radiate. Your muscles unclench; your hand falls to your side and you hadn’t even noticed that you’d been holding onto the end of Miss Davenport’s shawl. Softness envelopes you when you collapse, vision going sideways. You relax.

“The Lower Montana River - visit me there. I think we could have a wonderful partnership.”

The last thing you see is a pair of warm, earthy brown eyes.

oOoOoOo

Memories of the woman in Strawberry feel like half a dream. Not an entirely pleasant one to be fair, but the aftermath — waking up in the middle of the night a day or so later in an empty hotel and an equally quiet town to saddle a thoroughly impatient horse— was an experience. A fever dream, more like, and so thoughts of Miss Davenport had slipped to the back of your mind as you rode out of town.

That was until you’d taken a road past Macfarlane’s Ranch after dropping a bounty off in Armadillo.

“Lower Montana River.” You mutter to yourself upon catching sight of the worn road sign. “Huh.”

Curiosity has you tugging the reins in that direction, and your mind wanders. The trail gradually gets rougher, dustier. Wandering and weaving through the dreamlike recollections of Miss Davenport take up the near half and hour ride. Soon enough, you come across a bend in the road that leads to a hill, and atop that hill a sizable tent. While you can’t see anything inside the tent you do hear a familiar voice.

“I’ll certainly be keeping my eye on you, you mischievous thing. You’re more a fox than anything, really.”

Every vague impression you had retained of her appearance grays in comparison to the real thing. She’s — well, you remember Mister Macmillan disdainfully mentioning the “nymph woman” but he wasn’t entirely wrong. Her hair is tied in a wild twist that hangs down her back, and voluminously messy locks of hair frame her delicately formed face. Her clothes are elegant in their simplicity, though the shawl and gloves add a bit of personal flair you admire. In the heat her cheeks are rosy and creased with smile lines that you trace with your eyes as she grins to a particularly enterprising coyote creeping up to her tent.

“Ah,” You clear your throat. “Miss Davenport?”

With a startled yip, the coyote turns tail and flees down the hill and into the underbrush. Despite its disappearance her brow isn’t furrowed as she turns to you.

“Oh, call me Harriet, please. It’s good to see you doing well after that…nasty business in Strawberry. Have you given thought to my offer?”

To tell the truth, you’d forgotten about that bit as well. “I - what would I be doing?”

Her eyes shine at your amenability and, with enthusiasm, offers you a thick packet of materials and a book (if you aren’t mistaken) you hadn’t noticed her picking up. The binding looks somewhat professional and much more expensive than you’d expect it to be. Hesitantly, you take it.

“I am conducting a series of studies to look into the pathways that link all life by, well, studying all life! I just need more research material. In here are detailed notes on pretty much all animals from Armadillo to Annesburg — their habits, mating grounds, etcetera — and the locations of some truly impressive varieties. I would be willing to buy anatomical samples — I’m good for the money, I assure you — but,” She holds the packet close to her chest, ignoring the low warning groan of glass in favor staring intensely into your eyes. “You must promise not to commit any…animal-cide.”

Her eyes light up at your nod and she gladly takes your gold in hand, passing over the packet with barely contained glee. If you knew her better, you’d say she was more excited about the prospect of more research material than the payment itself.

Inside the packet are, as you heard earlier, glass vials. There are strips of paper and stamps tucked neatly away in a side pocket, ready to be used, but the piece de resistance is the thick journal laid in the cloth. She’d said there were detailed notes on nearly every animal from Armadillo to Annesburg and you believe her, heavy as it is. However, she’d also said live animals.

“How - ?”

“Oh, I suppose you’re right.” Bewildered, you watch as she ducks into her tent again and emerges this time with a box of what you assume to be ammunition. The label is nothing like you’ve seen before. “Sedative rounds. Painless, clean, and wonderful for my research — though do be careful not to use it on our smallest friends. It’s…too much for them.”

A memory of accidentally pulling out your shotgun when hunting whitetail deer fills in the blanks.

“The first few boxes will be free, of course. As incentive for your assistance.” She waves off your thanks. “I’m sure you’ll be visiting my shop for more rounds and tonics besides.”

“Tonics?”

Her eyes light up in a way you’re coming to associate with talks of her research. “They open up new ways of communication with other species — marvelous creations, if I do say so myself. Ah, let me —“

Deja vu has you standing in the mouth of her tent blankly as she retrieves several chunky glass flasks of several shapes and sizes, stamped with various symbols on the front. One has what you think is a hoof, another a shining sun. The sloshing viscous liquid inside one labeled with a yellow paw print looks decidedly interesting.

“Those impressive varieties I mentioned earlier? I’ve found that many only emerge in particular weather conditions and times of day. Occasionally frustrating, at least in the beginning of my studies, but I’ve found that putting yourself in the mindset of the animal - living as them - is an extraordinary way to immerse yourself in understanding.” She breathes shakily, clasping her hands to her chest, overcome with what you think is euphoria. “And this - oh ho, _this_ \- this particular mixture I discovered when tracking down an especially mischievous beaver near Butcher Creek. While I had known of the uses of castoreum - a horrible practice, by the way, and one I have been heavily outspoken about - it was observing these magnificent creatures as well as ruminating on the uses of musk that I stumbled upon a way to - well, in short I discovered a way to, instead of using it in such pedantic ways such as perfumes or food, use it to help us blend in. As a way to decrease the distress to our friends, of course.”

Throughout her explanation, she doesn’t stop moving. Opaque bottles filled with unknowable things fly off her shelves to be poured into a beaker. Every time she pulls off a stopper she near sings the name of the substance and you appreciate her happiness even as you try and block out the actual knowledge of the components of her concoction. Occasionally, she glances at the measured dashes along the length of the beaker and stirs the glass rod to break up some lumps. More containers of congealed-looking ingredients with a slimy sheen follow until she’s standing behind the makeshift counter with a satisfied look on her face and a beaker filled with a substance the consistency of what you can only describe as goop.

“Looks,” You swear it bubbles. Swallowing, you glance up at Harriet. “interesting.”

Whether she genuinely misses the deadpan delivery or just chooses to ignore it is immaterial and quickly moved from as she pulls up another jar from a shelf under her desk. Inside, the yellow liquid sloshes ominously. She pops the top and the smell of bile quickly floods the area. “Oh, yes! You couldn’t imagine the utterly fascinating results - one of them is actually another tonic I sell now! The wonders of experimentation -“

The wonders of experimentation go undetailed and, for the most part, forgotten when shrill birdsong erupts in your ear a second before the glass containing the unknowable tonic explodes. It exists as a wave of irregular brown and green, the color you’d imagine you’d see in Saint Denis’ sewers, for a second. Then the front of your shirt and the hem of your bandana, uncomfortably close to your mouth, is wet and heavy. You purse your lips. The smell is pretty much what you’d expect it to be - it’s enough to bring tears to your eyes - and you try not to audibly gag.

“You poor thing!” Harriet gasps.

“I’m really alright, it’s not too - “

“Your wings are covered! You’re lucky this is easy to wash off.”

If a burning flush wasn’t covering every spare inch of skin you’re sure you would have found the sight of Miss Davenport cooing to a small ruffled bird dripping with the gelatinous mix cute enough to fumble out a compliment.

It is, but the flush handily scorches away any semblance of confidence.

“Um, Miss?”

Wholly focused on wiping off the excess dripping off the bird, she doesn’t turn to you. “And I know the pheromones must be —“

“Miss D - Harriet?”

Her gaze is owl-like and strangely intimidating. You drip onto the wooden flooring.

“Apologies, but how easy does this come off?“

“Ah. Yes.” The color high on her cheekbones is telling. “Well, it was made to be the most environmentally friendly substance it could be, so more common commercially available materials were — hm.”

“Will water work?”

“For your skin, yes.”

“Cloth?”

She hesitates. The oriole, now sufficiently clean, flutters away. “For cloth, water is…less effective. It doesn’t stain as badly as it used to but lately I’ve been working on making it - well, making it more robust.”

You make a noise of acknowledgement. It sounds slightly more defeated than you meant it to.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to letting you borrow some of my clothes! Really, it’s the least I could do.”

“Thank you.”

“And - “ She looks down at her front, seemingly just noticing the mess that splashed her as well. “Ah. Now is a good a time as any.”

In another whirlwind of movement she’s suddenly by your side with a cloth bag on her shoulder.

“There’s a beautiful waterfall not too far away, and the pond it flows into is very clean.” With that, she gathers her skirts in one hand and reaches for your hand with another. You don’t resist her grip. Against your skin, her gloves are soft and the heat rising to your skin has nothing to do with the embarrassment of a faux pas.

You clear your throat. “How’d you pick out this place?”

While you can’t see your face, there’s a smile in her voice and if you were to turn your head you know you’d see her beaming.

“The wildlife, the natural wonders - oh, it’s a naturalists’ dream!”

It only occurs to you until after you’ve walked down the rather steep slope and Harriet had already set down the cloth bag that the concoction had seeped deeper into your clothes than you’d thought. This realization mostly comes from the renewal of sticky sensation as you try to strip away the offending clothing. The front of your shirt was heavily discolored and, as you peeled away the layers away from your chest, so was your undershirt. What was arguably worse was that it had also soaked through your pants.

Well, you sighed, nothing to do about it.

With a grimace you shuck off your boots and socks, stretching your toes in the sun-warmed pebbles. The irregular texture digs into the soles of your feet and you wince as you unbutton your shirt and fling it onto the boulder you’d leaned your boots against. It hits it with a wet smack, followed shortly by a more substantial thwap from your jeans. Left only in your delicates, you breathe. You already feel more clean and you had yet to step into the water. Speaking of…

“It really is very beautiful.”

“Isn’t it?” Harriet hums — closer to you than you’d thought and you only catch a glimpse of her bare shoulders and the line of her collar bone before you glance away. “The water is always very temperate as well.”

Pebbles grind against each other as she picks her way over to the water.

Her skin, surprisingly pale for all the time she had spent in the desert chasing after its wildlife, almost shines in the afternoon sun.

Suddenly, you feel very overdressed.

Your fingers are clumsy against the delicate cloth of your knickers as you roll them down your hips, fumbling as your draw your undershirt above your head. Your eyes keep on skating back to Harriet, to the curve of her back and her hip and the fluff of her hair.

Silently, you scream. The water was colder than you thought it would be and you’d splashed it directly onto your face. Shivering, you scrub your face, moving down your body as you also work on the dust from the road that had sunk into the seams of your skin.

It does not distract from the warmth building in your gut.

“Soap?”

A block of soap indeed reveals itself after you wipe the water from your face. The movement of your eyes is nearly subconscious, following the trail of bubbles up a pale arm to a shoulder and further —

You swallow and take the block with a thankful nod. Her fingers brush against yours. A spark of warmth, there and gone, but your heart jumps to your throat anyway. It’s pushed back down forcefully. Flames of mortification and something else you’ll examine later lick your body and you hurriedly scrub your skin raw, nails snagging against skin in your haste, ignoring the burn of the lye.

Soon enough you’re adequately clean and you clear your throat, soap heavy in your hand.

“Thanks.” Again, her fingers brush against yours. She’s oddly quiet. The soap lingers in between your grip and hers, caught in that awkward middle stage where neither of you are sure when to let go, trapped by reflexive courtesy. Her gaze is like a weight on your fingers.

As the moment drags on, you steadily become more aware of your heart beating away a rhythm in your chest. You can hear it, going so fast it just sounds like a low thrum. Intense panic, so heavy it almost loops around back to being relaxing, makes your breath short.

Your eyes trail up the track of suds again. Few bubbles dot her skin and you follow them for only the short time they last before tracing an imaginary path that rises above her collar bone and ends on her mouth. You feel fine settling there. More than fine. She’s biting her lip. Your eyes meet, and the hesitant steps you take to her feel to have minutes in between. Though she leans away slightly, she doesn’t pull away when you carefully settle your hands on the warm skin of her hips.

“Y’ alright?”

Her hands settle on your shoulders. Half lidded and heavy, her gaze is like a physical weight.

“Yes.” She whispers against your lips, and you tilt your head. Gradually, slowly enough to give her enough time to pull away. She doesn’t.

Her lips are soft and pliant. Sweet, too, you think, with the barest taste of mint. Another one of her natural tinctures, perhaps.   
A soft noise filled the air. You can feel it rumble in Harriet’s chest, echoed in your own though you’re only focused on her and the way it makes your lips tingle. Fever-like heat flushed your body. The hand on her hip lowered, tracing patterns down her thigh until you brushed against wiry hair.

Your thumb swiped over a spot that made Harriet jump, knocking her teeth against yours with a yelp. Water sloshes between your bodies. When you pull away and opened your eyes - she was flushed down to her heaving chest, something that drew much of your attention. Her nipples were pink and pebbled and looked so cold it was only right for you to try and warm her.

Her hands, which had been hovering around your shoulders, pulled jerkily at your hair as soon as you had licked a stripe over her nipple.

“Stop?”

Looking her in the eye as you simultaneously rose and took away your fingers from her center, settling them back at her hips, was delightfully torturous.

“N-no, I -“ Her hips had tried to follow your fingers, pressing forward until she was practically grinding your thigh. Shifting your stance so that you could better press up onto her clit was easy enough. Squeezing her backside and making her press into you more, molding every inch of her front to yours, and the answering stutter on her behalf was worth it. “I was simply unpre - unprepared.”

Your lips covered hers again and you smiled as she started to move hesitantly against you. Feeling the way she mapped out your mouth with her tongue, growing slowly more confident as she put together what made you sigh, sent shivers down your spine. That you could feel the effect it was having on her - the spreading wetness on your thigh - was maddening. You deepened the kiss; you wanted to get closer. You wanted to swallow every one of her moans, every whispered curse, every gasp of pleasure - you would take it all and watch her fall apart in exchange. You wanted - you wanted -

You broke apart from the kiss and smiled as Harriet leaned forward. Your smile widened at the plaintive, searching whine. Her eyes opened, hazy with pleasure and want and an exact mirror of yours. You tensed the muscles in your thigh as you ground up into her, dragging your thigh almost harshly against her core. One hand on her hip drifted up to pinch lightly at the skin of her breasts before flicking your fingertip over her nipple. The effect was instantaneous. She had been rutting lightly on your thigh and you’d returned the pressure lightly but this concerted effort combined with your touch had her trembling against you.

“I - “ She gasped, eyes sliding closed and peach pink lips opened in a loose “o,” and the image makes your breath catch. There’s only so many ways to describe desperation but you would find every word and then more - none of them on their own could explain the white-hot need for this woman shaking apart beneath your fingers and, well, thighs.

“Harriet - “ You think you meant that to be a question. Most of your thoughts are static and any string of thought shaping up to be coherent dissolves when she clamps her thighs on yours and moves her hips frantically, the drag of her breasts against your body whiting out everything else.

“I don’t - Ah!” Well taken care of nails dig into your shoulders as she buries her face into your neck. Half hunched over and so close to the edge, she’s all but fallen into you. Her thigh brushes against you and it’s enough to send a spark up your spine. It’s not near enough to even approach the edge, to set off the spring in your stomach, but it’s torturous enough to tease you with the notion of beginning the climb to climax. An urge to hold her to you and make it so that every shock of stimulation is more than just static rises but you can already see her face in your mind’s eye. As it is, the frenetic pace of Harriet’s hips is growing erratic and your thigh is dripping with her arousal.

You think you’ve bitten through your lip.

Something guttural escapes your throat, strained with need. You pull at her, impatiently forcing her against your already rubbed raw thigh. Shudders wrack her body as she lets out a long low moan practically into your ear, her hands clamping down so hard you think she’s drawn blood. Saliva drips down the skin at your neck as she ruts against your thigh, certainly not as frantically as before, to draw everything out. You rub circles against her hips through the aftershocks.

When she pulls away her face is flushed and you regret that you didn’t get to fully see her fall apart.

“Did…you - ? Oh.”

The second of indecision is glazed over as you lean in, laying a light peck on her lips. She gets you back for the way you pulled back earlier and leads the kiss enthusiastically, gasping lightly when the back of your hand brushes against her thigh.   
“I can - “

“Just kiss me.”

The palms of her hands are soft on your cheeks as you take two of your fingers. With you already so frantic to cum they slide in easily, pumping in and out as you abuse your clit with the palm of your hand.

You were wrong earlier, or at least inaccurate. It’s barely taken you any time at all to dance close to that edge. Your arm is barely tired and your legs are already trembling when Harriet drags a hand down your body. You sigh when her palm brushes against your nipple, but then her fingertip drags over your clit and she’s holding you up as you pulse around your fingers and tremble.

You lose track the amount of breaths you take just standing there, knee-deep in the pond and trying to woozily put yourself back together. Harriet does the same. When you come out your feet are all pruny and you still have to wash the tonic out of your clothes. Your gaze lingers on Harriet and you know hers does the same because she’s decidedly less subtle about staring and you catch her near every time.

You’re sitting on the boulder next to Harriet and your still-drying clothes when you catch her again. A vaguely inquisitive noise is all you can feel you can make in the calm afternoon without shattering the quiet.

She clears her throat. Her mouth works and she snaps shut. Whatever her words are, they get stuck in her throat and she repeats the process a few times before you lean over and press a kiss to her cheek, savoring her smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Drops of rain pat out a soothing beat against the canvas of Harriet’s tent. It’s slow, a gradual drip you’re sure will roll into a proper storm after days of nothing. Incidentally, the measured beat echo your footsteps as you press Harriet up against her desk. Any remaining space between you is quickly closed as she leans in to press a kiss to your lips.

When she breaks away she looks as surprised as you at her forwardness and you giggle when she hides her face in your neck, her arms encircling you in a hug.

“Something happen?”

“I am perfectly fine!” Her words are muffled in your neck and tickle your skin. “I just - well. While migratory birds are not my area of expertise I do understand their nature and - mammals are more my area of expertise and, obviously, bears are certainly similar in a way with their hibernation…”

She trails off, letting out a breath that gusts over your neck. Something like remorse played in your stomach. It had been a while since you stopped by — a week — just enough time to let her figure out whether last time was a mistake or not. Admittedly, you also could have just talked to her.

You swallow your remorse and lay the words on your tongue.

“What do you want this to be, Harriet?”

The line of tension in her shoulders softens, her body melding against yours more naturally. You rest your chin on the top of her head and breathe in the scent of her soap.

“I…” It’s less of a meld now and more just a sag against you, her arms loosening and falling to your waist.

“Harriet?”

“My apologies!” The formal way she tries to make amends is undercut cleanly by the way her legs tremble beneath her. Your hold on her tightens, and you help her fall into the nearby bed even as she tries to wave off your concern.

“What happened?” The serious tilt of your voice makes her fidget with her gloves.

“Just - research! Time runs away from me, it happens every once in a while.”

Despite your own horrible practices that will surely lead to problems in the future — well, maybe because of them, actually — you know what someone is trying to cover that sort of thing up. It’s only more obvious because she’s swaying in front of your eyes.

You breathe her name, bathed in concern, and watch as she fights against the sleep her body so desperately needs.

“I’m fine! I’m fine, really.” It really would be more convincing if you couldn’t see her trying to smother a yawn.

Gently, you lay a hand on your shoulder and push her back onto the mattress. The last bastion of stubbornness keeping her from acknowledging her fatigue falls and she curls into the blankets with a sigh.

“Sleep.” You whisper, halfway to the mouth of her tent. A floorboard squeaks under your boots.

“Stay?” It’s pulled from the depths of sleep and sounds like it, croaked and scratchy as it is. When you look back, Harriet’s gaze meets yours.

There’s only a beat of hesitation before you shrug off your vest, kick off your boots, and lay next to Harriet on the bed that’s slightly too small for two people. Her eyes crease happily as you settle down, and you pull her to you before they close completely.

oOoOoOo

Harriet wakes up when the bed dips, the mattress springs groaning under the shifting weight. Her eyes open slowly, her hands rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, and the first thing she sees is your back. Also, sunlight. The thought that she may have slept for an entire day seems less important in the moment than finding out where you’re going.

She calls out to you, a low rasp of your name. 

“Sleep well?”

The mattress creaks again as she props herself up, nodding.

“Good.” You reach for your boots.

“Could you stay?” Though most parts of her body had yet to fully wake up, she wraps a hand around your wrist quickly.

“You don’t want coffee?” You point a thumb to the sodden little campfire on the ground in front of the tent.

“N-no, I want - could we - “ She flushes prettily, her grip tightening. It doesn’t hurt. You glance down — her nails have been neatly cut and filed. That train of thought gives you a blush of your own.

“You’ve been thinking about it.” Now that you have the sun and a completely unobstructed view of Harriet’s face, you can see the red spread from her cheeks to her neck and then past the ruffled neckline of her dress.

You let your boot drop to the floor as she sputters, forgotten as you turn and press a kiss to her cheek. She’s warm underneath your lips. “What do you want, sweets?”

“You - “ She turns to hide her face, but you hold her hands in yours and move to face her. Incidentally this ends with you in her lap. “What you did . . . last time.”

“Last time?” You tilt your head and shift so your leg is between hers. Her teeth sink in to her bottom lip as she shakes her head.

“When you,” This time when her gaze drops you don’t make her look back up. You just watch as her gaze dips to your fingers, twined with hers.

The rest of her words are swallowed when she looks back up to you. That look — it’s something she’s seen when studying the larger animals in her field guide. It’s predatory, and a shiver goes up her spine as you trace the line of her lips with your eyes.

“To tell you the truth,” You lean in, brushing your lips against the skin underneath her ear. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that either.”

Harriet’s small gasp brings a smile to your face.

“Buttons?”

“On the b - on the back.” True to her word there is a line of chunky buttons on the back of her shirt that are easy enough to undo, leaving her bare. At your look, she fidgets. “It gets warmer here than in the Grizzlies! I have to adjust to it in any way I can.”

Fair. You tug lightly at the waist of her skirt, waiting as she lifts her hips so you can slide the entire garment off. In a happy accident, her knickers get caught with the skirt and it all comes off wholesale.

You lean back with a smile, drinking in the sight of her and delighting in the new knowledge of how far the flush spreads. Delicately, you follow it. Your fingertips drag down the column of her neck, dipping between the valley of her breasts. Absentminded tracing, not as important as memorizing the reactions you get from touching each inch of soft skin.

You’re caught between looking at her face or tilting your head down to see your fingers disappear in her when there’s a tug at the sleeve of your work shirt.

“The other part of what you did last time. I want that, too.”

“Other p - oh.”

Another pair of hands join yours as you unbutton your shirt, helping undo the buttons at the bottom and then moving quickly to the pair of buttons on your jeans. Your work shirt gets discarded onto the floor. As you peel off your undershirt, Harriet already has your jeans and underthings halfway down your thighs. Getting them completely off is a less graceful ordeal but you’re soon completely bare and pushing Harriet onto her back in short order.

You settle between her spread legs, hands itching to _touch_. Cheekily, you run your hands up Harriet’s legs, starting from her ankles and lingering on the skin of her thighs, grinning when she looks down to glare at you.Her hands are already fisting the sheets and you’ve done next to nothing. You almost feel bad for teasing. Almost.

Her sex is glistening and — you swear, it feels like it’s been an hour since you woke up but it couldn’t have been more than a minute. You draw circles on the skin of her inner thigh, dangerously close to where she wants you to touch. Your thumb just barely brushes her outermost lip.

“Good dream?”

Her legs twitch. When you glance up at her, she’s thrown an arm over her face. The stretch of movement draws your attention to her chest and you lean forward, caging her between your arms, as you poke her cheek with a smile. Her arm drops and you get an eyeful of hazel.

“What’d you dream about?”

“This. You. Other - other things.” Her voice wavers, the plea underneath plain.

You shift your weight so you can prop yourself up with one arm, letting the other trail down her side. Her legs tense and she draws in a breath. Preparation, you suppose. The pad of your thumb brushes over a place that makes her jolt and you make a note of that before going further, your fingers circling around the source of burning heat.

“Other things?”

You watch as what you’d said lands in her ear. Her face twists, frustrated, as she groans. But she answers.

“Doing what we did in the waterfall. More than that.” She pants, and you can feel yourself getting wetter as she struggles to push past her bashfulness to please you. “You letting me do this to you. Going outside and doing this. Things I don’t know the name of but I’ve - I’ve read about and want to do with you - oooo - ”

The tail end of her sentence gets lost in a squeal as you give in and thrust two fingers into her, eyes glued to her face contorted in pleasure.

Then you start to move your fingers, crooking them to get to all those hard to reach places, and Harriet’s back arches against the bed as she throws her head back. Her legs wrap around your hips, dragging you closer and your fingers deeper. Next time, next time you’ll bring your toy along so you can have both hands free to grab and bruise her hips — but best not to get lost in that.

“My arm’s tired.”

There’s almost a sob at that. Her chest heaves and her legs tighten around you, begging you not to go — but you weren’t lying. Your arm really was getting tired.

You balance back on your haunches, slipping down to rest your stomach on the sheets as Harriet reaches down for you. Your mouth is level with the apex of her thighs and as you run the flat of your tongue across her — she feels wetter around your tongue than your fingers — her reaching hands turn to grasping. They twist through your hair, pulling you closer as she bucks against your mouth. When you work your fingers in again — the fingers on your other hand, the others were still a little cramped — you cherish the way she trembles, how you can only see the underside of her chin as she throws her head back.

She moans as her thighs flex and her grip on your hair tightens, practically smothering you. Her back arches entirely off the bed. Your fingers are cramping again as you try to force her over that wave, your lips sealed around her clit, and it feels like she’s trying to crush you with her thighs, but seeing sweat drip down her body as she comes on your fingers with a cry is sweet. Watching her take a second to come down and catch her breath is similarly saccharine, a scene you want to replay.

Her blush as you suck her cum off your fingers is another thing you note you want to see again.

“Other things.”

You tilt your head, catching the way her gaze lingers on your chin. Still wet from her, you guess.

“Other things?”

She clears her throat and motions for you to sit back as “other things” click.

You prop yourself up on your elbows. There’s an odd enthusiasm in her eyes that you learn a quick appreciation for as she hooks her arms underneath your thighs and yanks you closer. Frankly, it seems like almost too much energy until you see the tremble in her hands as she digs her fingers into the flesh of your thighs. Then her tongue is on you and any further thought is thrown out the window.

You know how you like to take your pleasure and Harriet follows any direction you give but, for the most part, the way she sucks at your skin and draws shapes and letters with her tongue is all her. It is her initiative and her own look of sinful wonder as her fingers disappear inside you.

“Is - ?”

Your hand darts down to grasp her wrist. “Yes! Yes, don’t - don’t stop.”

A new wave of vigor comes over her at that and for a few seconds the angle feels awkward before she adjusts, and you feel her other arm bumping against the inside of your leg. The scent of Harriet’s arousal is familiar and heavy in the air again.

“Harriet.” You breathe, limbs and lips haphazardly glancing off each other as you pull her up. She whines into your mouth, never ceasing movement even when she feels your walls contracting on her fingers and sees the wetness that seeps into her sheets.

It doesn’t take much for her to come again, rocking her hips onto her hands, and she barely has the wherewithal to remove her fingers before collapsing backward onto the bed.

You catch your breath laying side by side, staring up at the canvas. The rain had started coming down harder and it’s left you laying in a tranquil bubble.

“I’ll come by?” You murmur.

Her response is equally quiet. “I’ll be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what can i say, the horny for harriet 2020 tag speaks for itself lmao

**Author's Note:**

> essentially i was playing and finally got to fucking around with the naturalist stuff and i was like dam well shit i need to find a rule 34 for this woman but then there was none and i was very disappointed


End file.
